


Wake Up Slow (Second Time Around Remix)

by Thistlerose



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Timeline, F/M, Remix, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:38:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up Slow (Second Time Around Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Two Words](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2165) by Liz Marcs. 



> Written for Remix Redux (2007). This story is slightly AU in that the First was destroyed, but Sunnydale wasn't destroyed.

It's not quite dawn and the apartment is as quiet as the moon (it's been a long, long time since he's thought of tombs as quiet things), but Xander takes two mugs out of the cupboard, and carries them and the coffee pot to the spare bedroom.

The door is slightly ajar, so he peeks in, expecting to find blond hair strewn across a pillow, and a blanket-covered lump rising and falling gently. But Buffy's awake, and alert enough to tease:

"Surprised to see you up so early," she says with a grin. "I thought dawn was primetime sleeping for you."

Xander shoulders the door open a few inches wider so he can lean in. "I never miss it." When she asks him why, he says, "Because of the time the sun almost stopped coming up. Funny, the things you suddenly realize you'll miss. Tan lines and things."

Buffy giggles. "Oh, yeah. I can see where you'd never want to miss another sunrise again, even if it meant dragging your sorry ass out of bed after a few hours' sleep."

She denies it, but she's totally projecting. "Well, okay, maybe a little," she admits reluctantly when he raises his eyebrows. "Pour me some of that coffee?"

He almost laughs at the yummy sounds she makes while she drinks. Anyone would think she's never had coffee before. When she finally comes up for air it's to ask him how he learned to make coffee like this.

"Anya," he explains, cradling his own cup. It's taken a while, but he's reached the point where he can talk about her, even laugh about her. Well, some things about her. "You'd think that after all those hundreds of years, she'd've figured out how to make coffee, but no. I guess she was so busy learning about how we were all a bunch of jerks that she didn't have time to notice our two or three good qualities. One morning, she decides to make coffee for both of us. Buys a bag of whole beans, takes 'em home, not realizing they need to be ground. I mean, she realizes eventually, but – not having a grinder – she finds a mallet in the garage, and I'm woken by the sound of my honey— You get the picture. Never let her make coffee again after that."

"No," Buffy splutters. She's shaking with laughter. "You're kidding, right? She wouldn't…"

She reads his weary smile correctly: _Come on. You knew Anya._

"Oh, she didn't!" She doubles over, and Xander has to move quickly to save his blanket from fresh coffee stains.

"Yah," Buffy says – when she finally _can_ speak again, "I can see why you'd never let Anya make coffee again."

Xander starts to hand the mug back to her, then pauses. "Can I trust you with this?"

The sound she makes is an odd combination of giggle and snort. "Sorry. Attack of the…" She makes the sound again. "But that was really funny." She holds out both hands.

"Deep breaths, now." He laughs when she follows his instructions with a look of wounded innocence, and returns the mug.

"Hey, nice to see you actually smile. It's been so long since I've seen you smile like that."

Has it? Xander hasn't given it much thought, but he supposes she's right. He hasn't had much to smile about lately. No new Big Bads have risen in the First's wake – none that Buffy can't handle alone – but it's been a hard couple of months. "Right back at you, Buff."

The blue, plastic blinds are starting to glow softly as dawn approaches. He scoops up the now-empty coffee pot and starts to go. "Sunrise, remember?" he replies when Buffy calls after him.

"On the patio?" she asks.

"That was the idea. Care to join me?"

"Why, yes. I'd love to watch the sunrise with you. I'm awake. I've got coffee."

 _Strong coffee_ , thinks Xander. She's awfully perky. Or maybe something is bothering her and she doesn't want him to know.

"I'm clothed in your sweats," Buffy continues, sliding out of bed, and padding after him down the hallway, "which make me look like Revenge of the Miniature Mummy, by the way, so no neighbors getting a peep show. I'm good."

"What is it with me and mummy girls?" he wonders aloud. Behind him, Buffy giggles again.

In the kitchen, he puts the coffee pot and his mug in the sink, grabs his jacket from the back of a chair, and pushes the patio door open. He gestures gallantly for Buffy to go first.

"Ooooh, holding the door open for me and bowing. Nice touch, Harris."

He prickles when she calls him by his last name. It's like she's addressing one of her troops. Not that there are many orders of hers that he wouldn't follow blindly. Fortunately, she doesn't notice. She's too busy slurping the rest of her coffee, and enjoying the view. The shops and houses are still washed in shadowy blue, but the sky is pink and yellow, and the streetlamps are going out. By the time she claims to have spotted her house, he's got his face in order and can tease her properly about just how her lawn came to suffer so much damage and how many times he's had to fix her front window.

"Thirteen times. Ouch." She bites her lip. He wants her to saying something how nice it is, having a manly man around to fix windows and things, but she looks away, drums her fingers against her mug. "You know, Xan, you should really let me pay you someth—"

"Forget it," he cuts her off, not harshly. He gets one of the folding chairs that's leaning against the patio wall, unfolds it, and sits. The metal frame is cold, bites through his pajama bottoms.

"No, I won't forget it," Buffy insists, still not looking at him. The breeze flicks her hair back from her shoulders and he finds himself mesmerized by the curve of her neck. He's back in high school, two-eyed, fifteen pounds lighter, stupid and smitten beyond words. Like a puppy. He shouldn't feel this way. Not after all these years, not after Cordelia and Willow (sort of) and Anya. Not after seeing her with Angel, then Riley, then – he still feels a flash of resentment – Spike. She's his friend.

And yet.

He's not entirely aware of what he says next, but it makes her exclaim, "Xander!" which is nice, he likes it when she says his name, and "Okay, fine. You won't take money. How about I make you dinner?"

He shakes himself and he's back on the patio, where the dawn is breaking all around Buffy.

"Didn't survive all those Apocalypses only to be poisoned, Buff."

"Stop it! I'm not trying to poison you. Hah-hah. Very funny."

He shrugs. "I said to forget about it. Call it my contribution to the war effort. Keeping my girls good and glassed in."

"Well, I'm not going to 'forget about it.'" She turns finally, and her eyebrows are cocked in mock-defiance. "I really want to do something to show my appreciation. So, what do you want?"

He can think of a _number_ of things.

"Pizza and video night," he sort of croaks, aware that he's a bit flushed, hoping she won't notice or ascribe it to the crisp air. "With you. And Dawn, Willow, whoever. The more the merrier. Girls' night in. Except for, you know, me. Not a girl."

"That's it? That's all? C'mon." And then she does one of the things he really wanted; she puts her mug down and comes to perch on the arm of his chair. She smells like his sweats, her lavender lotion, and that strange dry, sharp, faintly coppery scent that comes from slaying.

"Well, all right, if that's your price, that's your price," she says. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Harris."

This time she can't possibly miss it when he flinches.

"Sorry. Xander. I won't call you Mr. Harris again, even in fun."

"Yeah. Thanks." He looks at her knee, at the foot she's swinging. His socks are much too big for her; they flop against the ground.

"Wow. That really bothered you, didn't it?" She sounds chagrined.

"It's just—" He's got to lie. "Mr. Harris is my dad. Or it's Snyder lecturing me. Could we please—"

"Letting it drop now," she says quickly.

 

She finds other things to chatter about. How peaceful it is out on the patio. How long it's been since she's had any peace and quiet.

"It would be quieter," Xander tells her, "if you stopped talking."

"Jerk," she snickers, and swats playfully at his shoulder.

"Ow."

"What do you mean 'ow'?"

"Hello? Slayer strength?"

"Oh? If you're so bruised, then why are you laughing? Gotchya." She bats him again with her small hands. "Can't put one over on the ol' Bufferino here. No sir."

She thanks him for letting her crash at his place after her patrol, which she sort of did last night, but obviously doesn't remember. She was worn out, dust on her lashes, on the tip of her knees, under her nails. She says she didn't go home because she didn't feel like waking the Slayerettes.

"Mmm, sure it's not because you didn't want to fight any of them for first crack at the bathroom in the morning?"

"My sister takes _forever_ in there. I mean, how much time can one girl spend on her hair?"

"Buff, I think you're the one best equipped to answer that."

"I was _not_ like that when I was her age."

"Suuure."

"Was _not_."

"Were too."

"Was not."

Forget high school. They're back in pre-school.

 

They become solemn again – if not exactly grown up – when the conversation, after some meandering, finds its way to Anya. It's Buffy who brings her up, and Xander wishes that she hadn't. Just because he can talk about her doesn't mean that he likes to, or wants to. He has too many regrets, and says so. On a whim, he asks Buffy if she does, too.

"I try not to have them," she replies after a little silence. "One thing this year has taught me is that life's too short and too precious to have them."

"Really?" he says, surprised. "None? Not even using up all of Dawn's hair gel – or whatever it was – that one time? Oh-oh, you think I wasn't aware, missy? Can't get anything past ol' Xanderino. Actually, Dawn tattled…" He's trying to get her to smile again. It's not working.

"No," Buffy says, studying her nails. "I don't. Well. Actually, I do have one."

"Oh, yeah? Is it the time you cheated at Monopoly? Don't think I didn't know."

"No, I'm not telling you."

"Or, how about—"

"Xander!" Her voice is slightly strained. "I said no."

"Come on. Not even a hint?"

"Fine. One hint: it's not Spike."

That's sort of the opposite of what he was hoping she'd say, and it's got to be obvious because she adds quickly, "Not for the reasons you think."

"Oh no?" There's a lot he could say about Spike, but he keeps his mouth shut. He doesn't want to argue. He listens, as calmly as he can, while she tries to explain why she doesn't regret getting involved with Spike. None of it makes any sense to him, but at least it's over. He's glad, anyway, that she feels comfortable telling him these things.

Well, he thinks, watching her as she speaks, maybe not entirely comfortable. Something's bothering Buffy. It made her a chatterbox before, and it's making her oddly thoughtful now.

He's really curious, now. If it's not thanking Anya for all she did for them, if it's not Spike, what does Buffy regret?

 

She won't tell him.

"Why not? I can totally keep a secret."

"Because maybe some things are just better left unsaid. I think this is one of them."

"Why?"

"Because then it just might make it real." At his puzzled look, she says, "I can't explain it any more than that."

"Can't or won't, Buff?"

"Won't," she says decisively.

 

They go back inside. The sun is up, Buffy's getting hot in his sweats, and they're both hungry and ready for more coffee. Xander starts to say that he's pretty sure he has at least two bagels left, but Buffy pushes back her sleeves and announces that she'll be making breakfast.

"I said I would," she reminds him when he looks at her askance. "Cook for you."

"You threatened to," he agrees.

"I can make waffles," she says brightly. "I'm good at making waffles. It's one of my skills."

"That and kicking undead ass?"

"Yup. And really, what else does a girl need?"

Xander throws open the fridge door so she can see just how bare it is inside. "Eggs, maybe? Milk? Probably a waffle iron?"

"Oh." She actually looks crestfallen.

"Bagel?" he offers. "No green fur. Yet. See?"

"Any jam?"

"I do have jam."

"Raspberry?"

"Strawberry."

"That'll do. But I'm doing the toasting." She grabs the bagels. Glances around the kitchen. "Um. You have a toaster, right?"

They find it in the closet in the hall, still in its box with the price sticker on.

 

Over bagels and a second round of coffee, he asks her how things are at home.

"You want to know more gossip? C'mon, Xan, you only stopped sleeping at my place, what, two weeks ago?"

"Indulge me," he says. Really, he just wants to hear her talk. He hasn't seen much of her since he got his own place. He's curious about that regret of hers, but figures that if he's meant to know it, it'll pop out of her.

"I know Willow's going back to finish up her last semester," Buffy says, licking strawberry jam off her fingertips. "Who knew Willow'd be on the five-year plan for her bachelor's? Kennedy is sticking around. I think she and Willow are more serious than they want us to believe."

Which must mean they're pretty damn serious.

The Slayerettes are heading home, Buffy reveals. Giles is on a hunt for surviving Watchers and ex-Watchers.

"And if he finds any," says Xander, "this'll be to our advantage…how?"

"Yeah, with the exception of Giles and Wes, they're a pretty useless bunch. But these girls do need people willing to train them, just in case."

"That must be why Giles asked me," Xander says quietly, his gaze flitting from her face to the window. The blinds are half-open, so he can see the top of the wall surrounding his patio. It's splashed with sunlight. Beyond it, deep purple jacaranda blossoms are swaying in the light breeze. He spreads his hands on the table. "Got the will, if not the skill."

There's a beat or two before Buffy says, "Wait… Giles asked… Xander!" She jostles the table in her enthusiasm, nearly spilling their coffee. "That's wonderful! What did you say?"

"I said I'd think about it." Though he hasn't, really. He's poked at the idea, pushed it to the back of his mind and glanced at it from a safe distance. He wishes he could stick at it in a crate and peer at it through the slats. It's so big.

"What do you mean you'd 'think about it'? I think you'd make a damn fine Watcher for Amanda. Plus, bonus, she's the local Sunnydale girl, so you don't even have to move."

"Come on. Do I seem like Watcher material to you?"

"Pfft. So what if you don't have the snobby true-blue English bloodline?"

"That's not it." A small, brownish-green lizard climbs the patio wall and starts to sun itself. "I'm supposed to be responsible for a Slayer's training? I can hardly take care of myself. I can't even remember to buy milk."

"Will you stop it?"

"Seriously."

"Xander!" She sounds genuinely exasperated. "Okay, so maybe you don't have book smarts like Giles, but you can really think on your feet. I mean, you and Faith pulled that plan out of your collective asses in the final battle against the First. If it weren't for that little maneuver the two of you pulled off, we would've been all looking at the Hellmouth from the wrong side."

He feels her hand close to his on the table, but he doesn't look away from the lizard. "If I recall correctly, it was Amanda who caught the sword someone lobbed at my head. I just kind of ducked. And maybe yelped. _Maybe._ "

"See, now you're comparing yourself to Slayers and vampires. You _are_ a decent fighter. Hell, in a bar fight between you and a human twice your size, you'd probably wipe the floor with your opponent. Besides, Giles isn't all that hot at fighting, either. He was practically racking up frequent flyer miles in the emergency room at one point."

"Yes, but – and may I remind you that you're the one who brought it up? – Giles _has_ the book smarts."

She sighs. "Look, Xander, I know from Watchers and yeah, _maybe_ they were smart, but they really lacked…heart. A new Watchers Council could use a little more heart and that, my friend, you've got in spades."

"Putting hearts and sharp, pointy things in the same sentence isn't going to convince me, Buff."

"Fine. Think about this: you're alive, despite living twenty-three years on the Hellmouth, and facing off against the First – freakin' – Evil itself. How many watchers can say that?"

"Er. One."

"Exactly. So, will you think about it?"

He's afraid to move his hands, in case they brush hers. He's also a little afraid to turn his head back, in case she's moved her hands away. "Sure," he says.

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Then they're on to Willow, who's also been asked to consider the Watcher mantle, and to Faith, who's thinking of heading to Toronto to see what sort of dent she can make in the vampire population there. He's glad – that Willow and Faith have projects, and that the conversation's focus has shifted from him. He didn't lie; he does mean to think over Giles's offer. But he can't do it while she's sitting across from him, ticking off his good qualities, his mug at her lips, her big eyes all green-gold in the morning light. He finds he can look at her when they're not talking about him.

"You glad it's almost summer?" he says inanely at one point.

She nods vigorously. "You ever notice how quiet it is around here between May and September? Does badness take a vacation or something? And if badness took a vacation, where would it go? The Hamptons? The Riviera? Belgium?"

"Why Belgium?"

"Why Belgium? Why _not_ Belgium?"

"What's in Belgium? Besides waffles. Mm, waffles."

Buffy looks at her plate, which is flecked with bagel crumbs and dabs of strawberry jam. "Enough with Belgium."

 

They finish their coffee, then Xander takes Buffy's dirty clothes down to the laundry room while she showers. He takes his time down there, so she's dressed again – in his sweats – when he returns, toweling her hair dry.

It's obvious, even before she speaks, that she's been thinking about something, and it's bothering her. She has that little crease between her brows, and her eyes won't focus on him.

"Hey, Xan? If you could change anything, I mean anything at all, what would you change?"

He points to his eye patch. "Don't think the pirate look as really me. Kinda lacking the necessary Depp-ness. Then there's the paunch." He pats his belly. "Let's see. Always wished I were a little taller…"

"Heh. Maybe I should rephrase that. I didn't think you had a list."

"Buff, name someone who doesn't have a list." That's a mistake, because he _can_ think of one person who might not – Cordelia – and he really doesn't want to talk about her right now. Losing Anya was hard enough. Losing Cordelia – even though she was miles away from him and no longer his to lose – ripped open a lot of old wounds.

But either Buffy's too wrapped up in whatever's bothering her to think of Cordelia, or she knows better than to bring her up, she says, "Well, I do have a list of 'If Buffy could change things, what would she change?' I suppose that regret of mine just happens to sit at number one with a bullet. Probably because I know it's one thing I'll never be able to change, no matter how much I want to."

Xander crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe. "I know you don't want to tell me, but…can I guess? Does it have anything to do with being the Slayer?"

"No, it has nothing to do with being the Slayer. Well, _a_ Slayer." She puts the towel down, looks up – looks right past him. "Wow. Look at how the morning light makes everything seem so green. Why didn't I ever notice that before?"

 

He thinks she's done, but once they're back on the patio, blinking in the sunlight, she asks him if he's ever regretted something he said.

"Everything that ever came out of my mouth," he replies with a grin, so she'll know he's joking.

"C'mon. I'm being serious here."

"This is that regret of yours that you keep mentioning but won't talk about?"

Of course it is. "You know the funny thing?" she says, pacing the patio, her damp ponytail bouncing against her neck. "The really funny thing? I didn't even realize I had this regret until recently, y'know? I think I realized it last night. That's when it hit me like, whack, right upside the head."

"Buffy, if it's something serious, maybe I can… I don't know. Maybe you should—"

She cuts him off. There isn't much room to pace, but she can't seem to still herself. "So, I'm coming home from patrol last night and I get to thinking about fate, destiny, and all that other stuff that seems to attract itself to Slayers. Well, here I am, poster child for ADD that I am, and suddenly I start flashing on everything that happened since I got the Call. Anyway, I'm going through my mental photo album and then I come across this one scene, this one little scene, and I just stop right there. I keep replaying this scene over and over in my head. Then I get to thinking how your whole life can change in a heartbeat because of something that's said or something that's left unsaid."

She doesn't stop until she runs out of breath. He puts his hands on her shoulders, wondering if she'll shrug away. She doesn't, just takes a deep breath and looks squarely at his shoulder.

"Two words, Xan. Two stupid words. I would trade almost anything to take them back."

"Only two? That's not so bad. Unless you're my mom, in which case, saying 'I do' was probably not such a hot idea. Not that I regret being born," he's quick to add. "I didn't even regret that in high school. Not even when – I can see this isn't helping." He closes his mouth, lets her go on.

"I just kept hearing myself say these two words in my head. I mean, it was turning into some kinda mantra thing. Next thing you know, I'm sobbing and I start running over here, except I don't want you to see me crying because it's not your fault and you'd think I was hurt, or Dawn was hurt, or Willow was hurt, or that something was wrong and you'd panic and…and…"

Uncertainty tumbles away. He pulls her into a tight hug.

 

She doesn't cry, just sniffles against his t-shirt for a few minutes. When she pulls away, she doesn't even have to rub at her eyes, though they're very bright and her pale skin is splotched with pink.

"I'm good," she says, drawing a deep breath.

"If you wanna be alone," he starts to say reluctantly, "I can—"

"No. Really. I'll be fine."

"Last night – I didn't realize—"

"Yeah, I know you didn't realize I was upset last night. Sorry about lying about getting vamp dust in my eyes. I didn't want to talk about it and I knew you'd let me crash, no questions asked." She presses her palms together. "But I need to tell someone, Xan. I have to because I just can't let it go." Her mouth trembles into an uncertain smile. "I'm scared. I'm honest-to-God scared."

"You?" says Xander skeptically. "Scared? How bad can it be?"

Pretty bad, from the pained look she gives him. Not something she can fight, then. Not physically, anyway.

"The thing is," Buffy says slowly, "I said something that I don't think I'll ever be able to take back. I said something to someone and it really hurt this person, maybe more than I realized. I don't know if I can apologize. I mean, it happened so long ago and so much has happened since then that I don't think it's even possible now. I just don't see how it could change anything." She tips her head and quirks her mouth. "Then again, I'm afraid it might change everything. See what I mean?"

 _Angel,_ Xander thinks. It has to be.

"No," says Buffy, "you really don't. Do you?"

How can she tell when she won't even look at his face?

"I'm trying to explain," she says. "But I just don't know if I _can_. See, I don't regret the intent behind what I said, because at the time I said it, I meant it and it was true. I mean, I don't regret saying it, but I regret how I said it. Crazy, hunh?"

Or maybe it's Riley. She didn't love him, but couldn't have enjoyed hurting him.

"I think I'm looking at this with twenty-twenty hindsight," Buffy continues, "because somewhere along the line, what I said became not true. I just don't know when or how it happened, but it did. The thing is, if I told this person that it was not true and that I changed my mind, this person would never believe me in a million years. They'd have no reason to believe me. See what I'm getting at?"

"Buffy, if it's—"

"Please, don't say anything. This is hard enough for me as it is."

"Okay."

"Thanks."

He just stands there while she talks. The warm puffs of her breath make it hard. So does the way the sunlight seems to spill into the curl of her lashes. But he forces himself not to move. If he's going to be a Watcher, he tells himself, he's going to have to learn some patience.

He half-hears Buffy say, "See, when I was younger, someone asked me to go on a kinda sorta date with them. Problem was, I didn't feel the same way about them."

Not Riley, then. Not Angel. Definitely not Spike. Must be someone he's never met, someone from her old high school. What was the name of that guy, the one who was sick, who tried to get Spike to make him a vampire? Chevy? Ford?

"What can I say?" Buffy says. "I was stupid. Well, maybe not stupid. You know how you feel, right? You can't blame someone for not loving you back. I liked this person, maybe even loved them as a friend, but I didn't love them in that way."

"Please tell me it's not Scott Hope." He knows it isn't, but he thinks the idea might make her smile. A _real_ smile.

"No, it's not Scott Hope. Didn't you hear? He's gay now."

"I was joking."

"Shush. I'll never get through this if you don't let me finish. Where was I?"

"You didn't love someone 'that way.'"

"Oh, yeah. So, I turned this person down the best way I could, which, if you want me to tell the truth, really wasn't all that great." She laces her fingers together tightly. " _Two_ words, Xander. Think about that. Two lousy little words."

"They didn't take it well, I take it?"

"See, the thing is," Buffy says, "I thought I had found my one, true, and forever soulmate. I loved Angel with everything that I had. Don't get me wrong, I still love Angel and part of me will always love Angel, but if you ask me if I feel 'that way' about him now? No. Time, distance, Connor pretty much proved once and for all that it's over. Things change. Things always change. Sometimes…they just change in ways you don't expect. Like how one day you don't feel 'that way' about someone, and then someday, someway, somehow…you do."

She looks up at him finally, and he tries to cling to the idea of Buffy and Faith, but he's figured out where she's going with this, and it actually surprises him when she mistakes his astonishment for confusion.

"Thing is," she says, still looking at him, "I changed my mind about that conversation, about my feelings, about this person. Weird how that happens, hunh? Weird how you can only realize it in a flash while you're walking home alone at night."

She's a couple of feet away from him, lost in the folds of his sweats, but somehow he knows that she's shivering.

"Do you want to know my one great regret? The one thing I know I'll never be able to change? The one thing I'm hoping to change? Do you _really_ want to know?"

He knows, but he still doesn't quite believe it. He continues to not believe it, even when she unclasps her hands and brushes his wrist with her fingers.

"I want to take back two words, Xander. The two words I said when you asked me to dance. Just. Two. Words."

She moves a little closer. "'I don't.'" She whispers the words, like she's reluctant to let them out again, even if they're no longer true. He flinches when he hears them for the second time, but it's because he remembers how they hurt, all those years ago, not because they still do.

He's quiet for too long. She starts to pull away. "I'm sorry."

"Buffy, it's okay. You were being honest back then. Honesty is good."

"I'm being honest now."

"In the words of a great, intergalactic smuggler, _I know_. I may not have the book smarts, but I can figure some things out."

"So, what do we do now?"

"That's not one of those things."

He gets his real smile from her then, and it hooks him the way it always does, the way he suspects it always will. If he's learned anything from Cordelia and Anya, it's this: when a beautiful girl implies that she's into you, as long as you're absolutely sure she's not a vampire or an Incan mummy or a giant bug lady in disguise, you go with it. You don't chicken out, you don't go running to your best friend and try to resolve lingering sexual tension.

You take said beautiful girl's hand. You stroke her palm with the pad of your thumb. You'll know you're doing the right thing because her smile will go more rosy-golden than the sunrise you two just watched. She'll lean toward you, rest her hand gently against your chest. You'll kiss her hair.

Piece of cake in theory.

And in practice, it turns out. Buffy's hair is warm as sunlight against his lips.

4/14/07


End file.
